01x06 - That Darn Gator/We Drop at Dawn

[bunniefuu]

ANNOUNCER: And now, it’s time

for gripping action from the

basement archives of...

The Vice Squad!

Hi, and welcome to Vice

Squad!

The show devoted entirely to

crushing stuff in Dad’s vice!

You’d be surprised at how

many cast-off household items

can be forever changed by this

merry gadget!

Stuff like action figures...



paint cans...

preferably full ones.

Even diamonds, the hardest

substance known to man.

[Crashing]

[Shattering]

Make unique and decorative

curios.

Perfect for those last-minute

Mother’s Day gifts.

And best of all, no matter

how cruddy it looks, Mom will

love it ’cause you took the time

to make it yourself!

But remember, kids, safety

first!

Always make sure to use Dad’s

protective eyewear.

Hey, what’s this?

I can’t read a darn thing

with these goggles on.

Oh, well!

[expl*si*n]

Oh, are you okay, little pal?

I’m wearing Dad’s goggles,

aren’t I?

On second thought, don’t try

this at home, kids.

Leave it to professional

boneheads!

That’s all for now, kids!

See you next time!

Call an ambulance.

[Police siren wailing]

♪ Sam and Max

♪ Sam and Max

[Phone ringing]

♪ Sam and Max

♪

♪ Sam and Max

♪ Freelance police

♪ Sam and Max

♪ Freelance police

♪

[Snarling]

MAX: Looking back on it now,

trying to keep an alligator as

a family pet probably wasn’t a

good idea.

SAM: Even something as simple

as washing for dinner became a

big production.

MAX: He just wasn’t acting

like his old self.

Not like when he was just a

guppy, anyway.

Yeah, I’ll never forget the

first time we laid eyes on the

little guy.

We were doing a little light

housekeeping down in the

Sub-Basement of Solitude, when

after a mishap or two with the

work-vac, Max accidentally

sucked something out of the

porcelain hobby-horse.

Lookee there, Sam!

We caught us a life form!

It appears to have all the

characteristic markings of a

neo-natal alligator.

He’s fine, he is!

Hewwo dere, wittle fella!

Oh, hewwo, hewwo!

Since when do you do Elmer

Fudd?

Look, Sam!

He’s about to wrestle open his

translucent peepers!

Then, it’s high time I told

you about imprinting, Max.

You see, the very first

experiences of any newborn

thingy go a long way to

determining who that creature

will bond with and trust.

[Hissing]

Or conversely, loathe and

despise.

Congratulations, little pal.

Heh, he thinks you’re his mommy.

You mean, we can take him

home and raise him as our own?

SAM: We were young and

foolish, just kids ourselves,

really.

MAX: What did we know about

the care and feeding of infant

wildlife?

Sure, how hard could it be?

I’ll name him John, since

that’s where we found him.

[Toilet flushing]

And so began our longest

journey together.

MAX: Sam, can you give me a

hand in here?

It’s time for another diaper

change!

Boy, I don’t know what we’d

do without these things!

Me, neither!

[Alligator screeching]

I barely have time to think, let

alone tend to my own needs.

Yeah, who’d have thought

taking care of something that

depends on you for its very

existence could be so much work?

He hasn’t stopped bawling or

spewing, or having happy little

accidents since we got home!

I wonder what’s vexing him so?

What’s the matter, little

fella?

Are you bored?

Are you sleepy?

Are you sensing my desire to

turn you into a quiet little

handbag?

SAM: Max!

Sorry.

I think he’s hungry.

He hasn’t eaten a thing, and

I’ve tried everything!

Have you tried the spaghetti

carbonara?

[Munching]

I’m dying!

MAX: Sure, on the outside, we

try to appear all "ha ha" and

fancy-free.

But on the inside, we were a

threadbare bundle of nerves and

organs.

Little John wouldn’t eat.

I’m worried, Sam.

What do you suppose little

gators eat?

Hmm, hold on a second.

Well, let’s see now.

Albacore, albatross, alley cat,

Al Gore... ah, here it is!

Alligator!

According to this, baby gators

can only thrive on a diet of

worms, insects and a rare swamp

larvae.

I like mine medium-rare, with

just a trace of pink.

Should I check the sink traps?

No, for this type of

bug-hunting, we need someplace

thick with moisture and tropical

heat.

’Kay, I’ll check my spit

valve.

[Inhaling]

[Blowing]

It’s off to the wetlands!

Ah, here we are in a

little-known inner-city bayou,

painstakingly gathering

insectoid sustenance for our

infant charge.

Putting boots and hammers to

the feisty bigger ones.

[Bugs buzzing]

Looks like we have an ample

supply of warm, savoury bugs for

our little Johnny to feast on,

Max.

Let’s render them into a

smooth enriched paste without

delay!

And voila, baby gator food

à la Sam und Max!

Our little John is about to

take his first few pensive

mouthfuls.

I’ll get the kid.

You get the camera.

[John shrieking softly]

Hey, he’s still not eating.

What gives?

Maybe it’s too hot.

[Sizzling]

Hmm, there is a slight

burning sensation.

That’s just the venom.

Then, what’s the matter?

Why won’t he eat?

SAM: At that point, we were

facing the very real

possibility of losing a

cherished family pet.

MAX: Until the fickle finger

of fate poked the Grim Reaper

right in the eye.

Yeeeooow!

That’s it, Max.

That’s the answer!

He’ll only eat things off your

finger!

Like the first three layers

of skin.

Isn’t it precious?

He’s still operating under the

false assumption that you’re his

own fierce, leathery mommy.

Must be your teeth.

Hmm, this feels right, Sam.

I think I’m experiencing the

heady bond that can only come

from motherhood... or loss of

blood.

Look at him go!

At this rate, he’ll be onto

solid foods in no time!

Good, all this arm hair and

muscle tissue can’t be good for

him.

[John chattering]

Ahhh!

Ahhh!

Ahhh!

[Imitating chainsaw buzzing]

Well, that’s the last of it.

Not quite.

There’s still some bean dip.

I mean the sensation in my

arm.

[Both laughing]

SAM: The crisis was over!

Little John was going to be

okay!

MAX: Over the next few

months, John and I cavorted and

frolicked and gambled, as only

an alligator and his surrogate

mother, who also happens to be

a biped rabbity thing, could.

And in what seemed like a blink

of an eye, little John became

big John.

SAM: What was once a cute,

cartoony lizard baby, wiggling

around on the rug, was now a

full-grown, 10-foot,

foul-tempered primeval k*lling

machine.

[Belching]

MAX: And we loved him so.

[Music playing on TV]

My hamsters are missing.

MAX: All eyes turned to John,

but of course she had no proof.

This pet of yours has to go.

You can’t expect a full-grown

alligator to adapt to your

lifestyle.

Nobody can adapt to your

lifestyle!

MAX: The geek was right.

Soon after, we started noticing

a difference in John.

He started acting distant,

uncommunicative, depressed.

SAM: He’d taken to sleeping

with his ear to the toilet.

MAX: And acting fiercely

protective of an old pair of

alligator brogues.

[Snarling]

SAM: We were very concerned.

That’s why we’ve come to you,

Doctor.

Can you shed some light on

what the problem might be?

He’s an alligator!

You can’t keep a vicious animal

in the city!

There are laws!

[Snarling]

SAM: I see.

And your professional

recommendation?

Get rid of him!

[John snarling]

Well, you heard him, Max.

Clearly, John is suffering

what’s known as captivity

syndrome, a none-too-common

occurrence which manifests

itself when one takes a wild

animal away from its natural

habitat.

The way I see it, there’s two

ways we can do this.

We can either set John free, or

we can send him to a zoo, where

he’ll be fed and pampered and

encouraged to lord over many

submissive female gators.

No, Sam!

No zoos!

John was born free, and he must

remain free!

As free as the wind blows!

As free as the grass grows?

That too!

John belongs with others of his

kind.

If we have to let him go, we’ll

let him go back to the wilds

from whence he came!

[Flushing]

[John snarling]

What are you doing?

Returning John to the life

he once knew.

To the wilds of the sewer

system, silly.

Alligators don’t come from

sewers!

They come from Florida!

BOTH: Florida!

[John snarling]

I don’t think John’s feeling

all that well, Sam.

He won’t even eat Cheese

Chuckles or Chocky Chubbies

or Chilli Chomps!

My guess is he’s either

carsick, or he’s allergic to

the "Ch" food group.

Maybe he’s just anxious about

moving to a new place.

[Tires screeching]

[Passengers screaming]

This must be the place.

See if you can coax him out of

there, Max.

John, John!

[Snarling]

[Stomping]

You see?

He’s blending right in.

I think our John’ll be very

happy here.

They grow up so fast.

[Phone ringing]

BOTH: I got it!

I got it!

Yeah, yeah, uh-huh?

Oh, it’s okay!

There, there, big guy.

Yeah, we’ll get right on it.

[Max snarling]

That was the high-pitched squeal

of the Commissioner, Max.

He says our heart-wrenching

story has moved him to tears,

and that there’s dirty dealings

on the banks of Old Man River.

Looks like we’re ’bammy

bound!

We visited John many times

after that.

SAM: And not just because he

swallowed our shields, and we

were waiting for nature to do

its thing.

MAX: But because even though

John was back with his own

kind, he’d always be our

special gator.

SAM: You choke me up, little

buddy.

Which one was he again?

SAM: It was daybreak over

who knows where.

Max and I were being sent to

the worst place in the world,

but we didn’t even know it.

MAX: We hoped it, but we

didn’t actually know it.

SAM: All Max and I knew was

that when the red light started

blinking, it would mean that we

were approaching the drop zone!

MAX: Then, and only then,

would we be permitted to open

our orders, and glean the

details of our mission.

SAM: And when that light

blinked, we would act!

We would act like soldiers,

with honour, with dignity,

with--

Mine, mine!

I’ve got it!

[Both shouting]

Hey, a sticker book!

I love when the Commissioner

puts one of those in!

Anything my speed?

Nah, just some grainy

photographs, sketchy

documentation and a few

contour maps.

What, no concealable

weaponry, road flares or black

capsules?

What if we get captured?

Ha, ha!

You k*ll me, little buddy!

Only if we’re taken alive,

Sam.

[Helicopter whirring]

After completing the sticker

book and reviewing our orders,

the objective of our top-secret

mission became clear.

SAM: We were to be

air-dropped into a virtual hell

on Earth in order to engage in

a life-and-death offensive to

locate and retrieve the

Commissioner’s lost keys.

MAX: "Offensive," I like

that!

Hey, Sam, how are we going to

parachute through that

impenetrable forest canopy?

That’s what the big blades

are for, Max!

[Engine revving]

SAM: Whoa!

Oof!

Well, here we are, at one with

all of nature.

Yikes, bugs!

Whoa, ah, whoa!

[Punching sounds]

Oops, heh, heh, sorry there,

little buddy.

Didn’t see you down there.

Think nothing of it, Sam.

Luckily, I was still numb from

having that mossy obelisk break

my fall, and my hip and four of

my ribs.

Sister Mary France in low

heels walking away!

It’s a phone booth, Sam!

And look there, a fire hydrant!

And a park bench!

We’re surrounded!

I may be just lassoing lemurs

on Lexington here, but it seems

that we’ve been air-dropped into

some uncharted pocket of Central

Park.

♪

This woebegone hot-dog cart is

proof positive, Max!

Mm, delicious!

The over-abundance of chemical

preservatives have kept this

long-forgotten frank farm-fresh!

I wish I could say the same

for the sauerkraut.

Back, schnell, raus, raus!

No time for mutant condiment

wrassling now, little pal!

We’ve got our orders.

Let’s find those keys!

[Rain falling]

♪

[Spitting]

Gee, Max, I think it’s time

you changed your diet.

♪

[Flies buzzing]

[Muffled:] Nothing says the

great outdoors more than a

mouthful of bugs!

Oh, ah, ow!

[Sam and Max shouting]

[Splashing]

[Leaves rustling]

MAX: While Jim circled round,

I moved in to flush the beggar

out.

No prisoners!

[Punching sounds]

HIPPIE: Negative waves!

Be cool, man!

It’s cool!

It’s very intense, but cool.

Say there, Arlo.

Just how long have you been

living in this little piece of

heaven?

Not long, man.

I was just checking out the

Mamas and Papas concert when I

spaced out on a bad cheese

smokey.

Is the show over?

Oh, I think the show’s been

over for you for quite a while,

son.

Say, you haven’t seen any loose

keys lying about, have you?

Keys?

No way, cats!

But the Lord of the Park, the

chief dude, the guy with the

eye, he’d know!

He knows all, man!

I’ll make you a deal.

If you end one more sentence

with "man", I get to remove one

bone of my choosing from your

body.

Two bones, if you refer to me

as a cat again.

Where might we find this lord?

You can’t find him!

He’ll find you.

He is a great man, man.

He knows all and sees all.

He reigns over the cosmic forces

from his gilded throne in the

Hall of Lights!

He also doesn’t like to be

talked about.

It shrinks his aura.

I think maybe I’ve said too

much.

[expl*si*n]

In fact, I’m sure I’ve said too

much.

Whoa!

[Explosions]

Yaaaaa!

[All screaming]

Whoa!

Oof!

Whoa, dazzling!

We’ve either stumbled upon the

Hall of Lights, or we’ve

croaked and gone straight to

heaven.

My pupils may stay slammed

shut for good.

Wow!

It’s just like a giant mobile

for entertaining newborns while

they wait for their skull plates

to knit together.

ARLO: That’s them!

They’re the dudes who victimized

me!

Made me say things, man!

Howdy, you must be this lord

we’ve heard so much about.

We’re Sam and Max,

freelance--

Assassins!

Well, if you insist.

Naw, he’s kidding.

We’re not assassins.

We’re Sam and Max, freelance

police!

You’re neither.

You are errand boys, sent by

grocery clerks to mop up a grape

jelly spill on aisle 9.

Look, Rocky, we’re on an

all-important mission to find

the Commissioner’s lost keys.

If you’ll just let us have a

peek to see if one of your

skanky minions has strung them

up here--

I know the keys of which you

speak, Sal and Dave.

That’s Sam and Max, O forager

of chestnuts and liner of nests

with shredded Diana Ross

programs.

Take them.

You’re free to go.

But choose wisely, for while the

righteous keys will unlock the

door to freedom, the wrong keys

will spell certain doom.

Oh, boy!

Generally, we cheat death flying

by the seat of our pants, but to

turn it into a deadly parlour

game of chance?

That’s just so darn quirky!

What, are you guys crazy,

man?

You can’t do it this way!

Why not?

This self-same procedure got us

through that minefield last

week, right, Sam?

Hey, if it ain’t broke!

Say, these sure feel official

enough.

They’ve got "The Commissioner’s

Keys" written all over them!

And oddly enough, my corns

are barking.

Either a storm’s coming, or this

must be the way out!

[Teeth chattering]

This is it, little buddy.

Sweet freedom or screaming death

awaits us on the other side of

this door.

Ahh!

You have a real flair for the

dramatic, Max!

[Door slamming, screaming]

Listen, my children, as cruel

fate grasps our adversaries in

her soggy embrace.

Come to me, draw near!

What shiny things have we

collected today?

MAX: We are not dead yet,

stupid squirrel!

[Playing mariachi music]

We really hate to cut and

run, but a higher power is

waiting for these.

So long, my lord!

Good luck with the mange!

We’ll drop you a card on Bog

Day!

They’re getting away, man!

If they talk about us, it’s

over, dude!

We’ll have park rangers all over

us, man!

We gotta stop ’em!

They scamper away like

frightened duck babies.

The organism is unforgiving.

Sam and Dave will be retrieved

by my vengeful children.

Now, go!

Sic ’em up good!

[Laughing]

[Fly buzzing, choking]

I swallowed a bug!

♪

Sam!

♪

[Gasping]

[Rumbling]

♪

[Screaming]

Ahh!

[Spitting]

You know, Max, for centuries,

the waterway has been the artery

of life.

Unless you squeal on the mob.

Yeah, that too.

[Tires screeching]

It’s Sam and Max!

They got the keys!

[Jingling]

It’s about time you

chuckleheads showed up!

The Commissioner’s been asking

about them keys!

Now that we’ve braved life

and limb, just what are the keys

for, anyhow?

They’re for the

Commissioner’s private bathroom

and honour bar.

I don’t have to tell you the

mood he’s been in since he lost

them suckers.

Honour bar?

Hold it!

You can’t go up there!

It’s private!

Watch that cow, little buddy!

I could really go for a $17

bottle of cashews right now!

And I just got to go!

♪